


The Shadow of Misery's Wings

by Femme (femmequixotic), noeon (noe)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, severus/viktor, snape/krum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/pseuds/Femme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/noe/pseuds/noeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus looks at me then. "Dear Viktor. You can't take the entire force on by yourself." I know this, but I've been saving influence for when it matters. This matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadow of Misery's Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fluffyllama (Llama)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/gifts).



> Many thanks to supergrover24 for the beta and to the mods for their utmost patience with me. Written for fluffyllama in the 2010 snapelyholidays. (While this was credited to me in the exchange, Noe helped in the creation and writing and I'd like to give her co-author credit as such--Femme)

Sofia is cold on New Year's Eve.

I stand on the street corner, leaning against the empty facade of Gregorovich Wandmakers. The rough stone bites into my shoulders, and the rotted sign above creaks in the faint wind. The shop's been closed since the death of old Mladen Ivaylov at the hands of the Dark Lord so many years ago. No one will take the space, though. We Bulgarians are a superstitious lot.

A light snow falls around me, dusts my dark robe with a glittering white. Dusk is fading into dark and the street lamps cast a faint orange glow on the snowy pavements. Cries of _Štastliva Nova Godina!_ echo up and down the street as revellers pass me by, stuffed with rich banitsa, drunk on life and too many bottles of raika.

I light a cigarette with the tip of my wand--a Parisian brand, finely cut with starthistle, not that wretched Soviet shite my brothers and I would smoke surreptitiously on the roof of our childhood house, our pathetic charms to keep it from drifting back in the open window behind us nearly always failing.

The tiny house, slumped and shadowed beneath the granite peaks and rocky trails of the Pirin Mountains, is gone, replaced by a grander chalet built with the earnings from my Quidditch years.

Smoke curls around my fingers as I knock the ash from the tip of my cigarette. Those days are over and have been for five years now.

I push myself away from the wall, walking down the cobblestoned street haltingly, painfully. My limp is more pronounced in the cold. The flask of potion in my pocket would help, but I've a fear of taking too much. I've seen firsthand a potion addiction; the slow craving for Alihotsy Draught had eaten away my brother Mila from the inside and, in the process, destroyed my life.

The cigarette is acrid, bitter. I blow a thin stream of smoke into the dark night.

A group of teenagers, home from Durmstrang and obviously pissed, sidestep me, with anxious looks at the silver and red Auror insignia on the arm of my black robe. They don't recognise me. No one does any longer; the uniform hides me well enough. I'm grateful. I don't want the questions, the curiosity. That part of my life is behind me.

I turn a corner, down a narrow, winding street that leads away from the more respectable part of the wizarding sector. The cobblestones here are slick with snow and ice; the buildings rise dark and old on either side, their roofs tilting at sharp, odd angles. It's silent here. People don't want to be noticed, much less seen.

The door is hidden behind an arch and painted black. I stop before it, and with a flick of my wand, the Auror insignia disappears from my robe. I shouldn't be here now; I'm on duty. I don't really give a damn. The night is cold and my heart colder, as my grandmother would say.

I trace the rune on the door. It glows faintly for a moment before sinking into the wood, and I feel the soft whisper of the wards giving way. The door opens with a rush of warmth. I step in.

The bar is dark, muted. Wine and spirits flow freely, I know from previous experience, but the gloom of the narrow room hides the multitude of sins taking place in its shadowed alcoves. The scent of sex hangs in the air, musky and raw, and I can hear soft gasps and muffled groans as I pass.

I know what I want.

And whom.

He sits alone, at a table in a corner, a half-empty bottle of wine beside him. He watches me approach, his long, thin fingers pale against his glass. "You're back," he says quietly, and his Bulgarian is English-accented. I don't answer.

I sit across from him, not waiting for permission, and when he snaps his fingers, an elf appears with another glass. He pours me wine, then slides the glass across the table to me. I reach for it.

"They're going to raid you tonight," I say after a moment. I turn the glass in my hand, watching as the dark wine shimmers in the faint light of the flickering sconce above us. Its light warms the brick wall and casts shadows on the sallow face of the man across from me.

Severus leans forward. His greying hair swings against his cheek; he pushes it back, then rests his arms on the table, studying me. "And you tell me this why?"

The wine is Kadarka, full and rich. I sip it slowly, my eyes fixed on Severus. "I'd think that obvious."

"Mm." Severus lifts his glass to his mouth and drains it. "Because you enjoy me on my knees, sucking your cock." He wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb, and I shiver. His dark eyes narrow at me. "Or perhaps because you can barely keep your spunk in while eating out my arse?"

His crudity excites me. I can feel my prick swell already, and I want to force him between my thighs again, his eager hands fumbling with my trousers, his mouth on my cock, sucking me down, my fingers twisted in his lank hair as I press him down further, my thick prick gagging him. Instead, I draw in a ragged breath and drink my wine, my fingers tight on the glass.

He wants me just as much, I know. He seldom fucks the clientele. Bad for business, he claims, but the first night I walked into the bar, brought by an old Quidditch teammate, I'd pulled him into an empty alcove, pressing him against the wall as I kissed him drunkenly. He hadn't fought. Instead he'd dragged me to the velvet banquette, his hands sliding inside my trousers, wanking me until my cock was wet and aching before he'd opened his robe. He'd been naked and hard and when I pulled him over me, he'd bitten my throat, leaving a mark that hadn't faded for days.

Severus merely raises an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Both, perhaps," I say finally. "But there's more."

Severus just watches me for a long moment. "Zlatkov."

I nod. For centuries, the Bulgarian Ministry has turned a blind eye to the dark nooks of Bardokva Ulica, leaving the lower orders in peace to police themselves under their own rigid code of honour. They'd been safe as long as their activities were conducted here, hidden away from proper society. Our new Head Auror, however, has changed that. Zlatkov has higher ambitions than leading the Auror force. His sights are set on the Ministry itself, and he intends to make a name for himself by exposing Sofia's underbelly.

"I see." Severus sets his glass aside. "They know the current rune."

"Yes." I meet his gaze. "But not from me. Genadiev." Guilt washes over me.

Severus's mouth tightens. "Did I not tell you bringing him would lead to trouble?"

He had that night--repeatedly--swearing at me as he rode my cock, his fingernails scraping painfully over my nipples. I'd pulled his hair, my teeth on his jaw, thrusting into him wildly until he'd lost all train of thought, his fingers clawing at my shoulders as he came with a cry.

"I didn't have to warn you tonight," I say. I hate the irritated petulance that creeps into my voice.

Severus says nothing for a long moment. A man cries out behind me, the sound of his pleasure shuddering through my own body. I want Severus's hands on me, want him spread across this table in front of me, gasping as I fuck him, his knuckles white as he grasps the edges, his thighs spread wide.

"Of course you did," Severus says finally. "And of course there's not enough time to change it now."

"You should clear everyone out." I suggest. "They'll be here soon."

He stands. "Don't think I'll thank you for this," he says coldly.

I'd never expect him to.

***

I stumble into through the back alley entrance to the office, cursing. Andrei at the night desk takes one look at me and opens the heavy metal doors to the lockup with a surprisingly fast wave of his wand. He's a veteran of the Dark years, old and interminably slow but quick on the uptake when he needs to be.

Severus is inside the cell, stretched out on a cot, his wrists bound before him with an _Incarcerous_. His hair hangs lankly in his face. There's a livid, recent abrasion on his high cheekbone. When I grab his jaw and force him to look at me, his pupils are blown-wide from potions. Illegal veritas-enhanced potions, cheaper and four times as rough on the nervous system. We only use true Veritaserum on bigwigs.

When I let go, his chin sags. I storm, pacing a tight circle. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking, dear Viktor," he says, his voice curiously fluid. He sits up. His robe is torn, the buttons gone. It hangs off his thin shoulders, giving me a glimpse of white shirt and dark trousers. "It had nothing to do with thinking. We believed everyone to be out but then, during the mêlée, one of my whores left her child on the back stairs. I went back for him and they caught me."

I freeze. We both know what happens to children in such raids: they become wards of the state and their parents never see them again. "Did the brat get caught as well?"

Severus sighs. "No. I kept them busy. He crawled out while I was yelling at Zlatkov."

I look at him again. "Did they beat you?" My jaw tightens. There are Aurors I wouldn't trust with my worst enemy. Frankly, I think Zlatkov should begin his campaign against corruption within the force itself.

"Yes," he says, curiously detached. "Although not as badly as I've ever had. Not too many blows to the kidneys. I think they meant to go further but something's happened in the city centre, and Zlatkov had to leave with his hooligans."

I curse and ward the door. "Well, he can talk to me when he returns."

Severus looks at me then. "Dear Viktor. You can't take the entire force on by yourself."

I know this, but I've been saving influence for when it matters. This matters. I touch his cheek, my fingers grazing the abrasion, and he winces.

"Andrei," I shout, and a moment later the door opens with a clang of the wards. I don't look back. "Healing salve," I say, and the door shuts again, behind me, the wards going back up.

It takes a moment before Andrei returns. I trace the curve of Severus's jaw and his eyes flutter closed. When I hear the clank of the wards dropping again, I turn.

Andrei hands me the salve, frowning at Severus. "Did a bit of a number on him, Zlatkov did." He shakes his bald head wearily, his mouth a thin line. "Never saw that sort of thing in my day. Baj Mile would never have stood for it."

"Baj Mile," Severus says as I smooth the salve over his cheek, "was a complete idiot."

I exchange a glance with Andrei. Even now, years after his assassination, it's not wise to speak ill of the leader of the criminal gangs. "How much potion did they give him?"

"Too much," Andrei murmurs. He takes the salve back. "I'll be outside if you need me."

I nod. The door closes behind him and the wards slide back into place. I sit on the edge of the cot, looking at Severus.

Neither of us say anything. I sigh and fumble in the pocket of my robe, curling my fingers around the slick papery crinkle of the cigarette packet. I draw it out and tap a cigarette into my palm. With a flick of my wand, I light it. Severus watches me, his eyes sharp.

Puffs of smoke drift up to the ceiling. I tap ash of the edge of the cigarette; it drifts to the floor in a soft grey-white scatter.

"You're a fool, you know," I say. Severus is silent. "Which whore was it?"

"Snežana."

I remember her. "Tall, blonde hair."

He shrugs. "Share."

With a sigh, I hold the cigarette to his mouth. He leans in, and his lips, dry and rough, brush my fingertips. He draws in a long drag, holding it for just the briefest moment before breathing out a long, thin stream of smoke.

I can't stop myself. I bend closer, catching his chin with my long fingers, turning him to look at me. I study his face, all sharp angles, and my thumb sweeps along the curve of his bottom lip. Severus has been a mystery to me since I found him here in Sofia, a year ago, alive and bitter. I know nothing about him, not his history, not his present. He's never spoken of how he found himself in Bulgaria, making his fortune through sex and liquor. I've never asked.

His mouth parts slightly. His eyes are fixed on mine, the potions still evident in his wide pupils. When his tongue flicks across his lip, I know he wants me to kiss him. I may not know his stories, but I know him. I know what to say to spike his rage and what to say to calm him. I know how to get him on his hands and knees, his arse in the air, eager for my prick. I know what he looks like when he's arching beneath me, begging me to let him come.

That year at Hogwarts seems so long ago. We're different people, the both of us. I'm no longer a callow youth, certain of my future. He's no longer an arrogant professor, certain of his demise. Life has taken us down paths we never expected, then brought us together, uncertain and wary.

I pull back.

His gaze flicks down to my cock. "It wouldn't take long," he murmurs. "You're nearly there as it is."

He's not wrong.

I lift the cigarette to my mouth. I can almost taste him on it. The urge to kiss him, to bend him over the cot and have him here, writhing beneath me, is almost unbearable. Instead I stand again, moving around the table, away from him.

"Do you want me?" I ask. It's not a fair question. The potion requires him to answer.

He fights it, but it's too strong, even for someone as practiced at resistance as he. "Yes," he spits out.

I could ask him anything, have all my questions answered. He knows it, and he lifts his chin, daring me.

I won't.

That's not how I want him.

He watches me pace. "Your leg is bothering you," he says finally.

I glance at him. "Yes."

"You haven't taken the potion I gave you."

I shrug and stub the cigarette out against the wall. It leaves a mark. "You warned me not to overuse it--"

Severus's snort cuts me off. "I doubt there's any danger of that. Take the damned potion. Your brother wouldn't wish pain on you."

I look away. I know he's right, and I can't help wishing I'd not told him about Mila. About the flying accident. It'd been covered up, mostly, save for a few whispers here and there. Officially I'd injured myself in a practise game, ending my Quidditch career. In reality I'd flown after my brother late one December night. He'd been high on Alihotsy and certain he could reach the moon--when I'd caught up with him, high above the tree line on Vihren, he'd pushed me away, angrily and with incredible, potion-enhanced force.

We'd both fallen. Mila had died, hitting his head on the same boulder that had cracked my spine and severed two vertebrae. I hadn't walked for a year.

I still blame myself for his death.

Severus is watching me. "Vitya," he says, almost gently, and when I look at him, I'm angry, angrier than I've been all evening.

"Don't call me that," I snarl, and I grab his robe, jerking him halfway across the cot. A smug smile flickers across his face, and my mouth catches his, rough and furious, my teeth scraping across his lip, biting hard.

When the wards clatter again, I shove him away from me. He falls back against the stone wall with a grunt.

Zlatkov enters, snow still glittering on his broad shoulders. He looks at me. "Krum."

I nod curtly.

"You're not out with the others." Zlatkov eyes me suspiciously, taking off his cap. His brown hair hangs in his eyes. "I thought I gave orders--"

"And I thought I'd make certain the prisoner was still safe." I meet his gaze. "Proper interrogation procedures followed and that sort of thing."

Zlatkov takes off his black leather gloves. "I'm not certain I care for what you're implying."

"Should I state it outright?" I say softly.

"Viktor," Severus says from behind me, and Zlatkov's eyes flick his way.

A small smile curves his thick mouth. "Is that how it is then?" he asks. "I'd have thought you'd better taste, Krum. But then again, fallen Quidditch stars haven't much but faded glory to trade on, I suppose."

Severus lurches forward; I stop him with a hand against his chest. "Don't."

"I've heard about this one, though." Zlatkov reaches for his belt. "Quite the cocksucker." He turns towards me. "Perhaps I'll share him with you, after."

Before I can reach for my wand, Zlatkov falls, landing on the floor with a thud.

Andrei stands in the doorway, his wand drawn. "Get him out of here," he says, jerking his head towards Severus. "Go on. I'll handle that one." He flicks his wand at Zlatkov.

I give him a sharp look. "How?"

"Left training top of my class in Obliviation," Andrei says with a grim smile. "Fairly certain I can still manage to tweak a memory charm or two. He won't even remember tonight."

Severus just looks at him, his eyes narrowed. "Why would you care--"

"I don't." Andrei cuts him off. "Nothing to do with you." He glowers at Zlatkov. "Just don't like that one there."

"Don't argue," I say and my hand curls around Severus's arm. I nod my thanks to Andrei. "I owe you."

Andrei snorts as he squats beside Zlatkov. "Don't think I won't collect, _momche._ " He looks up at me. "Get out."

We Apparate.

***

We've barely landed in my flat before I have Severus shoved up against the hall window, his cheek pressed to the smooth glass. The only light comes from the streetlamps outside and the Christmas tree still in the corner, the fairies sleeping peacefully on its branches.

I've a good inch or two on him, and I might be twice as broad. My leg aches like the blazes as I press into him, but I don't care. I drag my mouth along his throat. His scar is raised against my lips, and I kiss along it, taking tiny nips across it with my teeth as I struggle out of my robe. The heavy wool falls to the floor with quiet thump. Severus hisses and stretches his neck.

"Whore," I whisper.

Severus laughs dryly. "I think that involves the exchange of funds, Krum." He rubs his bony arse back against my cock. "As I recall, you've never actually paid for my services."

I bite his jaw, my face pressed against his hair. "You've always seemed willing to give your arse to me for free."

He makes a soft sound and shifts his hips again.

My hand slides around him, reaching between the open flaps of his robe to cup his swollen cock through the pleats of his woollen trousers. I love the feel of him against my palm, the hot, heavy ridge of him between my fingers. The bright sound of a New Year's revel drifts up from the street below. "People can see you," I murmur in his ear.

Severus breathes in sharply.

"Do you want them to?"

He doesn't answer. My fingers pull at his zip, lowering it slowly. I can feel him harden more. I slip my hand inside his trousers. He isn't wearing pants.

My fingers curl around his prick, pulling it out. I stroke him lightly; my fingertips twist around his head. He shudders against me.

"Close your eyes," I murmur. "Imagine them standing below us, looking up, watching my hand on your cock..." I trail off, my fingers tightening on his shaft. "Just think of them all out there watching you."

Severus gasps and bucks into my fist. The head of his cock strikes the cold glass, leaving behind a slick smear.

His trousers slip off his hips, pooling at his bony ankles. I grab his chin with my other hand and pull him back into a desperate kiss.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" I ask breathlessly. If he says no, I'm certain I'll die. My fingers fumble with the buttons of my trousers, tug at the waistband of my pants.

"Yes, you stupid Bulgarian brute," Severus says with a groan and an arch of his back. His prick rubs across my hand. The potion must be raging through him by now. He's never been this open with his need. "As roughly as you can."

I take him at his word. I press him against the glass and jerk his robe up to his waist, my hips rocking into him, my cock sliding through the crease of his arse as I groan. He curses me, ruts back against me, bites my fingers when I touch his lips.

We're reflected in the dark glass, the both of us, our faces twisted with want, our bodies stretching, pressing, arching as my hands slide over Severus and slip beneath the hem of his shirt.

"Vitya," Severus groans, and I lift him up and carry him to the dining table, throwing him across it.

His robe ruches beneath his hips. I jerk his boots off, then his socks, tossing them aside, before I unbutton my shirt and slip it off my shoulders. His eyes darken as he looks at me, at my bare chest and the trail of dark hair that leads to my prick, jutting red and swollen out over the bunched cotton of my pants, through the open fly of my black trousers. He licks his lips and breathes out.

He pulls his legs up, cuffed wrists stretched over his head, and bends his knees. The sight of his scrawny narrow arse and his tight, mirthless smile destroy me.

"Isn't this how you prefer me?" he murmurs.

"Do get stuffed, Professor," I say, leaning in to catch his mouth with mine. His cock rubs against my stomach; his balls slide against my prick. I groan.

Severus kisses me, biting my lip, sucking at my tongue. We're both breathless when I pull away. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright.

"You want me." I trace the thin swell of his lip with a finger.

The potion won't let him lie. "Yes." He turns his head and nips at my fingertip. "I think I've made that bloody clear."

I'm too far gone for much hand work. I whisper a quick spell, and he moans.

"Impudent bastard."

"Did I miss?" I ask, not caring for anything except the effect. Two fingers press into him at once. He hisses.

"No." Severus arches beneath me. His feet press against the edge of the table, his thighs spread wide. "It feels like you put a couple litres of lube in my arse though."

"It'll come in handy," I say roughly. I slide my fingers deeper, crooking them slightly. "I'll invite the rest of the force, shall I?"

Severus bites my jaw. "Liar," he whispers into my ear. "You don't share well."

I thrust my fingers, and he cries out. He knows as well as I do I'll kill anyone who touches him now.

His hips shake as I bend his knees away from me, staring at his dark, puckered arsehole. My fingers slip out of him, and he stares up at me, gasping. "Now," he says. " _Vitya._ "

My heart beating hard against my chest, I lean forward, nestling the head of my cock against his entrance. I can see him open against it. Talented bastard. The lube is a bit excessive, pulsing out of him as presses against me.

I watch my cock split him open. I'll never tire of this moment: the hollow of his muscles, the impossible stretch of his hole around me, the filthy names he calls me to get me to lose control.

It works. I fuck into him on a long stroke, threatening that I'll bury my balls in him if he doesn't shut up.

Severus laughs and throws his head back, baring his long scarred neck to my teeth. And I bite, like the beast I am.

The table threatens to skid out of control under the force of my hips--each thrust lifts it up and then it falls with a bang on the black, polished stone floor. I fix it with a quick _Affingo_ while I still have a mind for proper spellcasting.

Severus's wrists are raw under the restraints. When I push his white shirt up, I can see the bruises welling on his pale, sallow skin. He watches me watch him.

"No pity, Krum," he says, voice thick. "Take me like you mean it."

I do mean it. I spread his legs as far as I can, watching the dark, seamed weight of his balls bob above my shaft as I plunge into his hole, now quickly, now quicker still.

He howls, scrabbling at the table above his head. I know he likes it like this, on his back and feral.

I fuck him harder, hard enough that I see stars. I'm rock hard and completely over the edge, beyond all restraint, as I fuck him, forcing his bony knees back, stretching him as wide as I can.

With a cry, I come, collapsing my mental function and destroying my body in long, dark waves of release. There is nothing, then, for a long while, nothing except my gasps for air and the chill fingers of overwhelming want clenched around my heart and a searing pain in my leg.

Severus rolls his head to the side, using his shoulder for purchase on the ebony surface of the table, pushing his arse up against me.

I blink and look down at him.

He begs. "Again."

Either he's a master in orgasm denial, something I don't put past him, or the potion is keeping him from coming.

"I don't know if I can," I say, although I'm lying. It's what he does to me: my prick softens for a moment but doesn't go entirely limp.

He mutters a spell, and my cock is as hard as a rock again and feels twice as big.

"What did you do?" I ask, suddenly suspicious. Durmstrang taught me to be wary of certain charms.

"Trade secret." He grins nastily. "Fuck me properly or it won't wear off."

The second time is like work: my prick is more sensitive, raw almost, and his arse is loose enough that I can slam balls-deep into him with every thrust. My aching legs tremble and my muscles clench as I pound into his welcoming body. Severus is relaxed, stretched out before me, almost meditative, as I fuck him harder than I've ever let myself go with anyone.

With a groan I reach for my wand, pulling it from my trousers before they slip down my taut thighs. I can barely cast the charm that loosens his bound wrists, but I choke it out on a gasp, and his hands slip free. "Touch me."

He grabs my shoulders, his fingers tight against my skin. I shake beneath his touch, desperate for his hands to move across my chest, down my stomach to catch at my hips, his nails biting into my flesh.

I press his legs wider. I can't tear my eyes from his hard cock, red and bobbing against his pale belly.

My desire for him is like a hunger, a furious need that can only be quenched with violent means. I sweat profusely in the chill air, so warm that I think steam should be coming off my skin. Salt drips into my eyes and my vision blurs. I clench my hands around his thighs, digging the pads into his sparsely haired skin, and thrust harder.

When I come again, it's excruciating, like a Cruciatus to my balls. I can almost feel a cramp in my cock from coming so hard. His arse clenches around me, milking me.

I pull out of him, gasping. Spunk trickles out of him, down the slick furrow of his arse to the polished black table below. I watch it, transfixed, trailing a finger through it and rubbing it onto Severus's lips. He moans, sucking at my fingertip, and his cock twitches.

I drop to my knees and suck at his battered arsehole, barely having to tongue him over before he's shuddering against me.

"Oh." Severus grabs my hair and swears. His body tenses against my tongue, his thighs clench against my ears. "Don't stop," he demands, his voice rising.

As if I could.

I suck and lick, rolling him against me then plunging my tongue into him as he moans and shouts and curses me for a filthy pig. He presses down and his fingers twist painfully in my hair. I suck my spunk out of him, lapping eagerly, and when I pull away, mouth slick and wet, he's gasping. Shaking.

He should have come already.

"Why aren't you...?" I leave it unspoken but he knows exactly what I mean.

Severus's hips jerk, bucking into the air. "I can't..." He tosses his head from side to side. "It's that godawful blackmarket potion..."

I can't get hard again, so I force three fingers into his arsehole and pull at his prick, leaning over him and calling him a filthy cocksucker, a bastard and a whore.

He cries out. I can feel his arsehole clenching and spasming around my knuckles as my words abuse him.

"More, dammit," he chokes out. His body shakes against me.

I lean into him, stroking him harder. His skin flushes, his hands tighten in my hair, then slide down to my face, my throat.

"Say my name," I whisper against his fingertips. "Now, Severus."

He cries out, arching against me. "Viktor. My Vitya." His fingers tighten against my jaw. "Mine."

My breath catches.

His long, bare feet skid against the table; his hands slip across my cheeks. "Oh, Christ--"

I've a shoulder pinning his thigh, four fingers spreading his arse open and a death grip on his cock when he finally starts to fall apart, jerking and yelling, shaking. His first shot is hard enough to coat my face with spunk. I blink and lick at the sweet bitterness.

His body goes limp, and I carefully withdraw my fingers, shaking and exhausted and suddenly wondering what I've done. His breath is heavy and ragged in the musky, still air.

We lie stretched across the table for a long moment.

"Brandy," he says finally, and his voice is raw, rough. He doesn't look at me. "Whatever you haven't drunk."

I don't ask him whether this is wise. I Accio a warm robe and wrap it around him, then pour him a hefty glass of the good Armenian brandy he'd sold me from his contact in Yerevan.

After a moment's thought, I pour myself generous measure and down it in one gulp.

"You can stay," I say gruffly, casting cleaning charms on us both.

Severus nods politely and quirks an eyebrow at me. "Considering that the Aurors have been through my living quarters, I'll take you up on that."

I hold out a hand. "Come with me."

He hesitates, then allows me to lead him to the bedroom.

Firecrackers explode in the sky outside my window, lighting our faces, and shouts ring from the square below.

"Happy New Year," Severus says dryly.

I lean in and kiss him, softly, before pulling him onto the bed.

Whatever else needs to be said--and there is much, I think--can wait until morning.


End file.
